The entire saloon reeked of Lysol disinfectant, with Bates barely able to smell the whiskey in the shot glass right under his nose. As the biker leader threw back his drink, shuddering at the fiery liquid running down his throat to land with an explosive thud into his stomach, Bates once more savored the comfortable numbness of cheap booze spreading throughout his body. He disregarded the other bikers on his right, all bellied up to the bar counter and putting down their own drinks as fast as they could, and the man grimly poured another shot from the bottle in front of him, while also ignoring Joey behind the counter pushing to the back of the saloon his rolling bucket containing the mop the owner had just used to clean the floor.
Behind Bates, someone politely cleared their throat.
*Oh, shit.*
Reluctantly turning around, his filled glass still in his hand, while noting his biker buddies (those pricks) were all determinedly staring straight ahead and hunching their shoulders in clear indication it was up to him to deal with whatever happened next, Bates finally faced the man standing in front of him. Despite himself, the leader of the Raped Rhino Riders couldn't keep his glance from nervously flickering across the other man's face, to then breathe a mental sigh of relief at seeing once more only a leather eyepatch covering a certain part of that person's features.
Bates silently thanked his lucky stars that the one-eyed man had finally gotten rid of that goddamn egg during the other's recent visit to the men's room. His relief at that was suddenly dispelled by a truly horrible thought, *What'd he DO with it?*, that made the biker's stomach abruptly lurch in warning that he was about to vomit again, until Bates quickly drained the whiskey shot in his hand, which thankfully pummeled that part of his body into drunken submission.
Really wanting this whole stupid night to be over, the gigantic man now glowered at the freak patiently standing there, and then he snarled, "Okay, you want me to say the goddamn words? Fine! You won, all three of the bets, and now you can haul ass! The door's over there, so just fuck off, the both of you! Nobody's gonna lay a single finger on either one of you - holy Mother of God, we don't even wanna be around you no more! Just fuckin' beat it, asshole!"
Instead of the understandable relief that should have immediately appeared on his face over hearing that reluctant admission of defeat and grudging permission to leave, Xander now simply stared in open astonishment at the grumpy biker, exclaiming, "What for? We could have left anytime we wanted, but that wasn't the whole point of the bet! No, you have to do something we want!"
Out of the corner of his eye, Bates saw the entire line of his followers flinch at those appalling words, and while keeping his body facing the guy nodding to himself in smug satisfaction, the boss biker threw his right arm in a backwards sweep, unerringly grabbing without looking the whiskey bottle he'd been drinking from, to at once lift this container to his lips and swallow four fingers of booze in a single gulp. Slamming the empty bottle back onto the bar counter, Lenny "Skullripper" Bates gritted out, "What. Do. You. Want?"
A few minutes later, in the cleared area at the center of the saloon, created by pushing the tables and chairs previously there out of the way, Xander beamed at those in front of him, and as he poked upwards in the air both straight index fingers at head level in a clear signal for attention, the man now chortled, "Okay, everyone, to the beat! Ah-one, Ah-two!"
After saying that, Xander's fingers, having made two vertical sweeps straight up and down, as if conducting an orchestra, now pointed directly at Bates and every other biker sullenly standing in the cleared area and staring fixedly straight ahead, as all of the mouths belonging to the outlaw motorcycle club now opened. Producing sounds previously heard only by elephant proctologists, the bikers started singing, "I'm a little teapot, short and stout."
Grinning wildly, Xander started waving his hands in time with the beat, bouncing up and down on his feet, as the bikers continued, "Here is my handle." Their features expressionless, the horrifically singing men now simultaneously put their left hands on their hips.
Seated at her table, Faith was keeping her own face pressed down onto the surface of that piece of furniture, arms wrapped around her head in a desperate attempt to protect her Slayer hearing and a bit of the woman's sanity.
"Here is my spout," chorused the bikers, as they all then held their right arms out straight at shoulder height. Fortunately nobody poked any of the other bikers, or there surely would've been murder committed among themselves straightaway.
Behind his bar, Joey slowly sank down as his legs gave way, until his unbelieving eyes were peeking over the counter at what he was seeing and hearing, with the last thing performing something the bartender had never thought possible, as unknowingly to the amazed man, the appalling sounds started exterminating every last cockroach in the place.
Knowing they were almost finished with their humiliation, the bikers rushed out the next sentence, "When I get all steamed up, hear me shout," bellowing this into Xander's joyous expression as that man hopped around with glee.
The children's song finally ended with the last words and actions of, "Tip me over and pour me out!" as every biker from Bates down then leaned over to the right, freezing into immobility for a few moments, unblinkingly watching as Xander now calmed down a bit in front of them, coming to a halt while rapidly clapping his hands and whooping, "OH, YEAH! That was beautiful, guys!"
Sniffling and pretending to wipe away a mock tear from his right eye, Xander now interestedly regarded how the bikers slowly straightened up, drifted together into a mob of several thousands pounds of enraged humanity, and started their slow, deliberate advance towards him, with Bates in the fore, that biker's basketball-sized fists clenched so hard his knuckles were pure white, and his eyes glowing with homicidal intent.
There was a puff of displaced air at Xander's left side, but he didn't bother to turn his head to look, knowing that Faith had just materialized there, with the Slayer ready to kick ass and take names the instant the first punch was thrown. Bates didn't shift his gaze the slightest either, keeping his watch upon the man in front of him, as the biker now came to a halt, with the two men nearly chest-to-chest. Well, make that nose-to-chest for Xander, who then looked up into a biker leader's glaring face.
Irately rumbling his words so deeply that Xander felt the air in his lungs shiver, Bates inquired, "Bet's over, right?"
"Yup," cheerfully answered Xander.
"Good," hissed Bates, managing that feat even with a word that didn't possess a single sibilant.
There was now a dead silence in the room, while all there awaited the next thing to happen that would surely begin the carnage. Except what did occur was something else entirely. His fists relaxing into hands dangling at his sides, Bates allowed a weary expression to cross his face, as that man sighed, "Fuck this shit. Me and my buddies are gonna take off, go home to our old ladies, fall in bed, and just forget this whole fuckin' night ever happened. Right, guys?"
A relieved chorus coming from the other bikers of, "Yeah!" "Fuckin' A!" "Damn straight, bro!" was disbelievingly heard by both Xander and Faith, who then watched Bates carefully turn around so as not to brush against the one-eyed man, to then amble away down the bar and through the front door without a single glance back at the bar, followed by all the other bikers doing the same. The last member of the Raped Rhino Riders club even gently closed the front door behind himself, quite civilly.
Standing there in wonder, Faith and Xander now heard the sound of motorcycle engines begin, and then fade away into the distance. Previously, when the biker club had arrived at the saloon, it had been to the accompaniment of a savage, animalistic roar of power, a bellowing cry of a mechanical Wild Hunt, carrying their bestial masters on missions of ruin and desolation.
However, at this exact moment, when Bates and his buddies drove off from their defeat, it instead sounded particularly meek and docile, almost if the Wild Hunt had been….neutered.